


Between the instant of a wreck

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [38]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alienages (Dragon Age), Bad family, Companion quests, Denerim (Dragon Age), F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Past Relationship(s), just city elf things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Caitwyn Tabris has come home, only its not quite the same place she left behind.  They only have a day to get the information they need to find the Ashes—and help Leliana and Alistair.  Though none of it goes terribly well, Marjolaine and Goldanna aren't even the worst part.Note: This series is fully drafted!  No danger of an unfinished series here!  :)





	Between the instant of a wreck

Smoke from countless chimneys puffed into the grey pre-dawn sky. The stone walls reared up, and dour men in dull armor patrolled the battlements and stood on guard at the main gate. Caitwyn huddled further into her cloak and fought down a wiggle of apprehension in her chest. Maethor whined pathetically beside her.

“I told you. You being with me is gonna draw too much attention. Besides, I thought you liked Sten.”

Her dog wuffed, sneezed, and pressed himself heavily against her side.

“Well fine, I know you and Shale don’t get along, but you could after this. Just don’t pretend to lift your leg on her again.”

His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a canine grin.

“You been taking humor lessons from Alistair, have you?” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the massive hound. His sneeze was derisive. Shaking her head, she turned back to the city. 

Denerim.  _ Home _ .

One day. Sunup to sundown. That’s all they could risk. It would have to be enough. 

And hope that the guards wouldn’t be too interested in the armor hidden by their cloaks.

* * *

Caitwyn’s nose crinkled ever so adorably, and Zevran allowed himself a bark of laughter. 

“My dear Warden, this is your home is it not? Surely the smell would not trouble you?”

“I never noticed the smell before. At least not like this.” She regarded the city with eyes that seemed to have never seen it before. Oh, he knew that look. The look of someone returning to a place only to find it different. Not that the place was different, but that they were. He knew that very, very well. 

“Ah, it is the way of cities to smell a little, but there is so much  _ excitement _ to be had.”

“Pray, do tell what excitement one might derive from such a stench? Unless one has a fondness for filth, which might explain the dwarf’s fascination.” Morrigan’s barb landed squarely, and Oghren growled under his breath.

“Says the woman from a  _ swamp _ ,” he muttered.

“Look, we need to split up, and you three can handle supplies, right? Oghren, you’re on weapons and armor, Morrigan herbs and the like, Zevran get us some food. Fruit especially. Our stores are low.”

Zevran doffed an imaginary cap and bowed to her extravagantly. “It would be my honor to find you such edible delights, my dear.”

Caitwyn rolled her eyes, but it was Alistair’s reaction that was the more amusing of the two. The furrow of his brow, the clenching of his jaw. Ah, Zevran knew how things stood, but it was such fun to tweak the man’s long nose.

“We’ll meet back here just before sundown and leave with the market farmers.” Her glance skywards was considering, but whatever she was thinking she pushed it away.

“As you command, Warden,” he replied, seeing no reason to have the threat of discovery, torture, and death ruin what promised to be a relatively pleasing day. For once, they were not tromping through wilderness, underground, or otherwise in peril. A city, ah, he  _ understood _ a city.

* * *

“So… a cult. Great, just what we needed. A cult bent on keeping anyone from finding out about the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” Wynne shook her head at Alistair’s not-quite whining complaints. Caitwyn wagged a finger at the young man, playful in spite of what they had stumbled into.

“Ah, but if someone’s protecting it, that’s another mark in the ‘it’s real’ column.” The young woman was a good deal brighter lately. The Deep Roads had been hard on all of their party, but their too-young leader most of all. 

Perhaps it was her years weighing on her, to regard youth so skeptically. To have presumed that Caitwyn hat set her cap on a king-to-be, and not the good-hearted young man Alistair was. There never would have been any warning off the young man, however, that was certain. But then young men were more bullheaded about some things.

“Oh no! I… I think I have found the real Weyland,” Leliana exclaimed, hand over her mouth in shock. The charred body in the back room gave off barely any odor, and Wynne rubbed at her temples.

“Only something  _ very _ hot would have done this. Magical fire for certain,” she said. It was not a pleasing thought, that this cult had mages to its name. Mages outside of the Circle.

“Lovely,” Alistair drawled. “Apostates and a cult. I suppose why not? We’ve had everything else.” 

“Looking at the maps, though, they’re in the Frostbacks.” Caitwyn held the maps surely, marking of distance without a problem. A far cry from the wary girl she had met at Ostagar. “That’s… not good. This time of the year, the passes will be buried.”

“So we must wait?” Leliana asked. “That would not be wise, once they do not hear from their fake Weyland.”

Caitwyn’s eyes narrowed at the dead body of the cultist. “He was left here to delay or kill anyone who came looking. I’d bet that as long as no one came, he wasn’t supposed to report. The more you contact someone, the more you risk getting caught.”

“So… no news is good news?” Alistair’s demeanor brightened instantly, and Caitwyn’s did likewise. Her face, usually so composed, beamed like a newly risen sun at Alistair’s contribution.

Perhaps Wynne had been too hasty on that score. They suited each other well, and who was she to cast shadows in an already dark time?

“Exactly. As long as they don’t send someone to check in, we should be alright.”

“They are not very good at the clandestine game,” Leliana clucked.

“Leliana, dear,” Wynne said evenly, catching the oddly buoyant mood. Two dead bodies, and yet they were hopeful. “All things considered, I shall take a stupid enemy over a competent one.”

Caitwyn’s tight, agreeing grin, was exactly what Wynne had been hoping for. An apology was long overdue, and it might just be welcome.

* * *

Leliana knelt next to Marjoline’s body and wondered if she had really wanted this outcome all along. Yet even in death, the other woman’s face retained her hard edges. The marks of a life lived in the shadows were slow to appear, but were no less permanent. 

Caitwyn sat on her heels opposite the body and searched Leliana’s face. She turned away, not wanting to have those sharp eyes see to the heart of her. A heart was equally weighty with sorrow for the murder she had done, and yet uplifted by the promise of  _ true _ freedom, and the thrill of besting her own mentor.

“You never would’ve been free,” Caitwyn told her. Shadows flickered over her face in the small house. Closed and cramped and pressed close to its neighbors without even a window to freshen the air. Lit only by the fire in the hearth and candles, gloomier for the winter gloom outside the door.

“Yes.” The word was a leaden weight falling from her lips. It had yet to be seen if it would drag her down, or if it was to be a weight lifted. She was not sure which she wanted it to be. Raising her eyes to meet Caitwyn’s, Leliana stood. “Perhaps we will speak of this later, but for now… I believe we have a much happier reunion in store, yes?”

* * *

“Oh, and what’re you? His servant?” The sneer on the woman’s face made his blood boil. 

“Hey! She’s no servant! She’s a Grey Warden like me!” Caitwyn shook her head and gently tugged at his arm. As if it didn’t matter. It did matter!

His sister,  _ his sister _ , crossed her arms like she hadn’t even heard him and kept harping on him. It was true, he supposed. Their mother was dead because of him, and no one had thought to take care of the daughter left behind? That didn’t seem right. That  _ wasn’t _ right. 

Shoulders slumping, Alistair didn’t know what to do. She wanted money. That was something he could do. Awkwardly, he took out the little pouch of money he carried. Maybe he could just give it all to her? They had slowly been collecting funds from all the things they found and sold on. While he was pondering, his sister’s children—his nieces and nephews he supposed—ran wild. Crying and yelling, their clothes tattered and arms too thin. One of them, a little girl, ran smack into his legs. “Oh! I’m sorry!” was all he had time to say before the girl threw her head back and wailed.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Goldanna scolded. “She’s going to cry all day now! Oi! One of you get your sister and stop her crying! I’m trying to get us some money!” 

Caitwyn’s hand closed over the purse strings and she threw it down at Goldanna’s feet. His sister scrabbled in the rushes for the gold. Cait nudged him, and he let her prod him back out the door into the dreary winter day. Never had he been so glad for the click of a latch behind him.

He shook his head at his own stupidity. Somehow, he thought it would be like that vision in the Fade. Even though he knew it hadn’t been real, it had felt so real. Maker, he’d thought she’d welcome him with open arms when he was the reason her life was so hard! 

“You’re better off without her.” Caitwyn spoke through clenched teeth, and he started. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so angry. Every line of her was tense and shaking with rage, and her eyes glimmered dangerously. 

“She’s had a hard life,” he said. Maybe he was making excuses. “Alright, it wasn’t what I expected, but I thought. I thought family was supposed to welcome you, no questions asked. That’s… that’s what family does right?” He shrugged, trying to push it all away. It didn’t matter, except that it  _ did _ . All his life he’d dreamed of a real family, a family all his own, and this was what he got?

“It is,” Caitwyn said, and his heart sank a little further. Then she slipped her hand into his and pulled. “But family is more than blood. Come on, there’s some people I want you to meet!”

He let himself be pulled along in her wake, though he didn’t know where they were going. “Um, who?”

She grinned at him, sharp and bright, over her shoulder. “Papa. And my cousins. A  _ real _ family.”

“Is that a good idea?” His voice rose and broke, and a trickle of sweat sluiced down his back. Cait’s family? Meeting him? Bad idea. Very bad idea. They were going to hate him, he just knew it. They’d take one look at him and tell Cait that they didn’t approve. And Maker help him, her  _ father _ . His precious little girl with a human? He was doomed.

“Wanted to see them anyway, and we’ve still time before sundown. Why not?” She peered up at him. Past the market already, they stopped just before another gate. Dirty slush was piled up against the stone wall that surrounded another part of the city. The Alienage. Cait’s home. Her hand squeezed his reassuringly. “Family is people who  _ care _ , Alistair.”

He was learning to hear all the words she didn’t say. It would be  _ nice _ if she said them, but Cait was Cait. Wishing she was different would be wishing for someone not her. He squeezed her hand back. “Alright, just… let me know if I need to run away from your father.”

“Run away? From  _ Papa _ ?” Her nose crinkled with incredulity, as if the possibility of her family not liking him didn’t even occur to her. “You won’t. Now, come  _ on _ .”

Slightly bolstered by her confidence, he let her pull him forward once more. A lopsided grin made its way to his face, and his heart swelled in his chest. He supposed he was right where he belonged anyway.

* * *

_ Purge _ .

The word shot through her mind like a vein of ice, freezing ever rational thought and locking it away. Her body moved without needing to be told what to do. There were strangled shouts behind her, but she closed them off. She knew this city and its secrets; no one else could help her in this. 

Weaving through the crowd of cloaked market-goers, Caitwyn scrutinized the old city wall that kept her people hemmed in and under control. It was scaleable, and there were a few places where the shops and homes would shield her from view of the guards. She’d done it before, as a barefooted child. She could do it again.

The alley was narrow, and her cloak caught on a nail that stuck out too far. She ripped it free and shuffled closer to the wall. The stones were fit together neatly, but the mortar was old and pitted. Perfect holds for climbing. Her fingers dug between the cold stones and she climbed. The boots were strange to climb with, but she kicked and worked the toes of her boots into cracks and crevices. 

A winter wind from the sea whipped up and tore the hood of her cloak back. Her ears stung in the cold, and her breath puffed out of her in tiny, panicked clouds.

That couldn’t have happened. Shouldn’t have happened. She’d put herself in the hangman’s noose to keep it from happening.

But Duncan had saved her. The shems hadn’t had their justice.

So they had taken it.

Her heartbeat slowed to a glacial pace. The world around her was like treacle, and she pulled herself up once more against the burn in her arms. The top was close, so close, but she nearly lost her grip as a hand tapped at her ankle. She kicked backwards on reflex. “Please, my dear Warden, I would rather not die this way.”

The wind clawed at her torn cloak as she pressed herself close to the wall. Zevran was only a few feet below her and to her right. Leliana crouched on the roof below them, her hood obscuring her features, but Caitwyn knew the tense line of her shoulders meant she was ready to leap onto the wall. 

Caitwyn glanced up at the top of the wall. So close. Ten more feet, not far at all. From there, she could slink along the top and drop down on the bridge. From there, not far to home. If it still stood. She couldn’t leave not knowing. She  _ couldn’t _ .

“ _ Please _ , Warden.” A pleading note wound through Zevran’s voice. Her eyes scrunched shut, and her forehead rested against the bitter cold stone. “I know what this is, but you cannot be lost. We must go, my dear. And quickly.”

The top was so close. The dark stone was stark against the light grey sky. Her family was so close. Throat tight, she trembled on the wall. She finally understood treed cats. They’d gone too far to go back down, to know how to return to the earth below. 

Zevran climbed up next to her, and she made herself look at him. His hand covered hers. “I am sorry, my dear. More than I can say. Come, your young man is full of fear for you.”

She did not move.

“We’ve been spotted!” Leliana called, just enough for Caitwyn and Zevran to hear. The bard knelt and knocked an arrow, sighting down along the shaft. Blood drummed in Caitwyn’s ears. 

“You know what will happen to him if we are captured.” Zevran’s voice was taught as a lute-string. Her eyes squeezed tight.

Alistair would not survive capture in Denerim. Loghain couldn’t risk it.

One last time, she stared up at the top of the wall. So close. So close and yet so terribly far. Biting back a curse, she scrambled down the wall. Her feet on the ground she led them through the back alleys and by-ways of her childhood to safety beyond the walls of the city. To the west, the sun sank below the horizon, a small yellow disk obscured by the hazy clouds. Her breath billowed white on the breeze off the ocean. Salt and garbage mingled together. The last rays of light broke through for an instant and struck the walls of Denerim, and Caitwyn turned her face away.

Her mouth moved, and the wind stole her voice away. A small  _ I’m sorry _ carried away on the air. An apology no one could hear.


End file.
